Read Online Fix You by Lauren Gilley - Free Book Online Page A

was. She was being a complete bitch. But recognizing it and preventing it were two very different things, she was realizing.
                  Jo’s expression soured. “You do realize I work a high schooler’s job for just above minimum wage, right? And up until a month ago, my husband made less and we had a brand new baby. No, I haven’t gotten divorced, but I know what it’s like to need and find work.”
                  Jess sighed. Her sister had always suffered a bit from the sense that, as the youngest, her elders were forcing wisdom on her. Being in the worst financial shape of any of the five of them had only worsened her paranoia that, like Walt, they all judged her poorly for the decisions she’d made. Every little thing was taken as a slight against her or, God forbid, Tam, and with her own worries, Jess hadn’t been sensitive to that. “Calm down, Joanna of Arc,” she said with another sigh.
                  “I’m one hundred percent behind you when it comes to Dylan,” Jo pressed on, “but you’re gonna have to do some ass kissing if you want a job.”
                  “I hate ass kissing.” She scowled as she dragged a waffle fry through a ketchup puddle on her tray.
                  “Me too.” Jo took a bite of her sandwich and then talked around it. All of Mom’s she’ll be a lady one of these days wishes had never come true. “But in this economy - ”
                  “I know, I know.”
                  “I’m only trying to help you.” Her sister shot her a pointed look before she reached over to consolidate the fries Willa had pushed out of reach on top of her high chair tray. “And I’m doing it the only way I know how.” She picked up her sandwich again and gave herself a little shake. “Okay, so, where to next?”
                  She was tenacious; Jess would give her that. It was ineffectual, but wasn’t it the thought that counted?
                  Whatever.
    **
                  Tam shoved his hands in his jeans pockets as they strolled between the rows and rows of cars, and he waited. Randy was serving as tour guide for the boys and somehow, Tam had fallen into step beside Walt. Shittiness was coming, it was just a matter of time.
                  It came. “You’re working with Mike at Parrish?” Walt asked in a voice that hinted at civility. He’d been, if not decent, then at least indifferent toward Jo for a long stretch now. The resentment was still there on both sides, simmering beneath the surface, but Walt had at least stopped attacking her.
                  “Yep,” Tam said like it was no big deal. Like he hadn’t puked on the side of the road before his interview, like he hadn’t sweated inside his brand new suit and been pasty-pale and stuttered like a moron. He lived in near constant fear that the guys at work saw him as a sad sack charity case, but that was a fear Jo kept reminding him was only in his head. So he was working at Parrish with Mike and his first paycheck had taken his legs out from under him and sat him down hard at the kitchen table, his breath stuck in his throat. But Walt didn’t know any of that.
                  He snorted. “How many strings did Mike have to pull to make that happen?”
                  “He got me the interview,” Tam said with a shrug, “but I made dean’s list every semester; three other guys applied for the job and I had the best resume.” He’d never bragged in his life, but Walt was forcing him to. “Besides, Mike’s never been good at pulling strings.” He shot Walt a sideways glance and saw him frown. “Speaking of not good , how’s Dylan?”
                  There was something Frankenstein-like about Walt when he frowned as hard as he did now. It was the stress lines in his forehead. “Guess you’re loving this, huh?